


Birdland

by Quente



Series: En el sol [2]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Gen, Pre-Slash, Road Trips, Valtteri might be half human, magical realism?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-20
Updated: 2014-11-20
Packaged: 2018-02-26 10:10:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2648159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quente/pseuds/Quente
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You look smaller than usual tonight,” Palat says cheerfully, but then drapes his arm around Tyler in a warm bro-hug, tugging him in.</p><p>Tyler says a weak, “Fuck you,” but the Europeans have less of a personal space issue than the Americans, so Tyler leans gratefully into the warmth for as long as he thinks he can get away with.</p><p>~</p><p>Basically, Tyler is freezing, and Valtteri has ice for veins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Birdland

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what I'm doing, but my point is to slowly flesh out the world of Tampa Bay so that other people want to play in this sandbox (ice rink?) too. Come join me!

Tyler notices things. For example, he always notices when Stammer’s leg is hurting. It’s not obvious to many other people, but Tyler can see that there’s just the barest second of a hitch when Steven leans out over that leg to skate. Also, Tyler notices when Coop is pleased, and when he isn’t, by the way he chews his gum. A loud open-mouthed smacking on the bench means annoyance, and a quiet closed-mouth rumination means contentment. Most recently, Tyler notices the frustration emanating from Heddy in waves when he’s in his suit instead of battle gear, bumping their fists before each match. And Tyler notices something else.

On the plane to Toronto, they fly from JFK up over fields of New York that now look like frozen arctic tundra. Tyler shivers just staring out the window, and his winger nudges him with an elbow. “You missing home, Johnny?” Palat jokes, knowing that ‘home’ to Tyler is closer to something out of Twilight than to this snow (despite their years in Syracuse) or the beaches of the gulf.

“It’s crazy. One of the Sabres was a healthy scratch the other night cause he couldn’t get his car out of his driveway. Did you hear?”

“I bet the Crunch boys are snowed in too,” Palat says, and Tyler sees his hand twitch for his phone, maybe to check on a friend or two. They have ties in Syracuse still, the two of them. It’s been only about a year since Stammer’s injury, since they were called up to carry an ailing team. And they did, shouldering the load of the fourth … then third … then second lines, all the way to the playoffs. Now they are steady warriors for Coop, the heart of the new Bolts, and maybe part of the brain, too.

It’s when Tyler looks past Ondrej that he sees it -- the weird glow coming from the row opposite them. Stammer’s leaning back, eyes half-lidded, expression trapped in the strange stewing melancholy that he’s had since the start of their road trip. And beyond Stammer is Valtteri, head turned, the brightness of the sun on the snow making his copper hair glow like a halo.

Then Valtteri turns his head, and Tyler sees it -- that smile. It’s rare, Val’s smile. Val’s usual expression is bird-like, fierce and focused. It settles into polite interest off the ice, unless there’s media around -- in which case it becomes sharp and guarded. But it's there now, that bright, slightly goofy grin…

“Val’s been missing the snow,” Tyler says quietly to Palat, knocking elbows, tilting his chin toward Valtteri’s ridiculous grin.

Palat blinks, glancing sideways. “Did you doubt it? In my country, we have stories about them. The Finns.”

Tyler throws him a sceptical glance. He’s more for science than fairy tales, but this is definitely a topic of conversation beyond their usual rounds of hockey, surfing, domestic stuff, hockey, gossip about hockey players, and gaming, so he nods his head. “What stories?”

Shifting so that he’s turned more toward Tyler than toward Val, Palat leans in and lowers his voice. “The Finns are not entirely human. A long time ago, the goddess of the arctic waters was the lover of a human man, and her children became the Finns. Their veins do not flow with blood like ours, but with ice.”

Tyler can’t help the small chuckle. “Good one. I can believe it, looking at him.”

Palat bites his lip, looking just a little sheepish to tell a children’s tale. “That’s how we see the Finns -- fairy people with ice in their veins.”

From across the way, Val snorts. “What bullshit is that, Pally. You should hear what we think of the Czechs.”

Palat tosses a wadded up napkin at Val’s head, which Val bats down. “You can’t deny that you hate the warmth, can you?”

Stammer opens his eyes then, his trance interrupted by their chatter. “I’ve noticed that,” he says. “Val is mad on the ice, but get him out in the sun, and it’s like he becomes a slug. Remember our last surfing trip? We couldn’t roll him off the beach blanket.”

Val’s skin is actually not the pale skin of his countryfolk. It’s darkened by a Florida tan to something duskier, almost Native. Tyler’s from the Pacific Northwest and knows that mix -- it’s almost as if there’s a little of something else in Val, even if it’s not the blood of arctic fairies. And now, Val’s skin is dusky AND blushing.

“I am not a complainer,” Val mutters, shaking his head. “I like Tampa, it feels like home, it --”

“We’re not the press,” Stammer interrupts dryly. “Val. I just saw how hard you were smiling at the snow just now. Admit it -- you missed it.”

Val turns his head, pressing it against the cold pane of the window, and doesn’t say anything for a long time.

They all wait, staring at his back, and finally Val turns back to them and shrugs. “Well. We have a story about a place where the birds go in the winter. The place is called Lintukoto, and it’s always warm there, but not for humans. When I came to Florida and saw the waterbirds in the warm winter, I thought: this is not the earth anymore, I’ve gone to the land of the birds and I can’t go back. So when I see snow…”

“You feel like you’re back home?” Tyler interrupts, his voice gentle.

Val smiles again, the goofy one, his face still slightly flushed. “Yeah.”

~

They touch down in Toronto and it’s a lot darker than it was nearer to the equator, even though it’s early afternoon. There are actually reporters at the airport, which is rare for Florida hockey, and Tyler blinks. Then he watches as they gently converge toward Stamkos. 

“Hometown boy coming home,” Palat reminds him as the whole team pauses and waits. Someone inevitably asks Steven _that one question_ , and it seems as if the whole airport quiets down to listen.

“Can you address the rumors that at one point this past summer, you thought about returning home as a Leaf, Steven?” A reporter asks, holding out her phone.

Stammer laughs, already a pro at deflecting it, his words a bland teflon that hides any desire, for or against. “I think we have a good thing going in Tampa, a lot of young talent, and we’re working hard. I don’t know that I’d want to let all our work go right now.”

After a few more questions that verge on actual begging, they let him go, and the group of them are out in the dark, cold Toronto air, walking toward the bus.

Tyler wonders if they’d be begging so hard if the Leafs were doing better, and huddles down further into his coat. He thought he’d be ready after the chilly air of New York, but he’s not. The licks of freezing wind push at his skin and rub his cheeks raw.

“You look smaller than usual tonight,” Palat says cheerfully, but then drapes his arm around Tyler in a warm bro-hug, tugging him in. 

Tyler says a weak, “Fuck you,” but the Europeans have less of a personal space issue than the Americans, so Tyler leans gratefully into the warmth for as long as he thinks he can get away with. On the bus, he sits surreptitiously closer too, and Palat smirks at him, leaning against Tyler’s arm.

“You should be like Val, he’s almost hugging the window.”

It’s true, and Tyler’s nose wrinkles just looking at him. Val has no hat, his coat is unbuttoned, his gloves are off, and it looks like he’s drinking in every breath of the cold Canadian air.

“Your expression is like a cat in water,” Palat laughs.

“Fine,” Tyler says, disgruntled, admitting it, “I can’t fucking wait until I’m warm again.”

~

Walking from the bus to their hotel, it starts to snow. There is already a light dusting of it on the leaf-strewn ground, but Tyler glances balefully up -- just a second too late to hide his expression.

“I can’t believe how weak you’ve become,” Palat says gleefully, but then they’re both distracted by Val, who is actually sliding OUT of his coat and turning into the frigid breeze.

Stammer is laughing at him. “If there was enough snow, I’d rub your face in it,” he says.

“You could try,” Val says, and that bright smile is back as he elbow Stammer, shoving him off the sidewalk.

Tyler’s attention is caught by something indefinable between those two, by the playful energy between the older veteran and the young captain, pushing at each other like boys. Something is easing in Stamkos’s face -- it’s like he’s losing the edge of melancholy that’s been with him for the past few days, finally.

Val seems to notice it too, because when Stammer’s face is turned, he carefully scoops up a tiny handful of ice.

A second later, it’s down the back of Steven’s jacket, and the captain is yelping, “You fucker --” and turning to exact his revenge.

Behind them, there’s a rumbling laugh from the former Rangers, a contingent that’s been glued together since the match in New York. Tyler meets Cally’s eyes, and Cally’s expression goes just a little wry.

“He looks like he’s doing a little better,” Callahan notes quietly, and Tyler reminds himself that teams are sometimes so much like one body and one brain that everyone’s business is shared.

“I think it’s that we have our next game to play,” Tyler responds, shrugging. Life is moving on, thank god.

And after that, their next game, and their next… 

Suddenly Tyler feels the worst, iciest, coldest sensation on earth creeping down the back of his neck and he knows what just happened. Whipping around, he flails out to grip at the retreating Czech in front of him.

“Pally, you fuck!”

“You were thinking too hard!” Laughing, Palat turns to flee in the direction of the hotel.

And the chase is on.


End file.
